For a long time the two soldiers gazed at the black speck on the beach.
“Let’s go back,” said the younger soldier. “We’ve been trudging through the sand long enough already. Who wants the body of a despised foreigner instead of rich booty — the merchandise and slaves that were on that ship…”
“You talk without thinking,” the elder man interrupted him again. “Those merchants are sometimes richly dressed and wear jewellery. A gold ring wouldn’t do you any harm — why should we report every drowned man to Seneb?…”
The soldiers marched along the damp sand of a beach beaten hard by the storm.
“Where’s your jewellery?” the young soldier asked mockingly. “He’s stark naked.”
The elder man uttered a disgruntled curse.
And, indeed, the man lying face down on the sand was completely unclothed, his arms bent helplessly under his torso and his short curly hair full of sea-sand.
“Look,” exclaimed the elder soldier. “He isn’t a Phoenician. “What a strong and beautiful body! It’s a pity he’s dead, he would have made a fine slave and Seneb would have rewarded us.”
“What country is he from?” asked the younger.
“I don’t know, perhaps he’s a Turusha, or a Kefti, or maybe one of those Sea Peoples, the Hanebu. (Turusha — Etruscan. Kefti or Keftiu — the Egyptian name for Crete and its inhabitants. Hanebu — northerner.) They are rarely to be found in our blessed land and are valued for their endurance, strength and intellect. Three years ago… Wait a minute, he’s alive, praise be to Amon!”
The body lying on the sand twitched almost imperceptibly.
The soldiers threw down their spears, turned the unconscious man over and began massaging his stomach and legs.
Their efforts were successful, the unconscious man-it was Pandion — opened his eyes and coughed painfully. His sound constitution had stood up to the test and before an hour had passed the soldiers led him, supporting him under the arms, to the fortress.
They made frequent halts on their way, but before the hottest part of the day Pandion was brought to a tiny fort standing on one of the countless sleeves of the Nile Delta, to the west of a big lake.
The soldiers gave Pandion water to drink, fed him a few pieces of bread dipped in beer, and laid him down on the floor of a small earthen shed.
The terrific strain had left its mark on Pandion — a sharp pain racked his chest and his heart’s action was weak. An endless procession of waves passed before his closed eyes. As he lay in a heavy torpor he heard someone open the frail door, made from fragments of ship’s timbers. The captain of the outpost, a young man with a sickly and unpleasant face, bent over him. The captain removed the mantle that had been thrown over Pandion’s legs and made a close examination of his captive. Little did Pandion imagine that the decision that was then ripening in the captain’s mind was to bring him further tribulation.
The captain, satisfied with what he had seen, covered Pandion over and left the shed.
“Two rings of copper and a jug of beer each,” ha snapped at the soldiers.
The coast watchers bowed humbly before him but at his back they sent looks that might kill.
“O Mighty Sekhmet, look what price we’re given for such a slave…” whispered the younger soldier as soon as the captain had withdrawn. “You’ll see, he’ll send him to the city and sell him for no less than ten rings of gold…”‘
The captain suddenly turned back. “Hi, Senni!” he shouted. The elder soldier ran obediently to him. “Keep an eye on him. I make you responsible for him. Tell my cook to give him the best of food, but take great care, for this captive is a mighty warrior. Tomorrow make ready the light boat and I’ll send the captive as a gift to the Great House. (The Great House — a euphemism for the King of Egypt whose name it was forbidden to pronounce. (In Egyptian — Per-o, whence the ancient Hebrew, Pharaoh.)
We’ll give him a sleeping-draught in his beer so that there will be no trouble with him.”
… Slowly Pandion raised his heavy eyelids. He had been sleeping so long that he had no conception of time or of his whereabouts. He had vague, fragmentary memories of a bitter struggle in the stormy sea, of being taken somewhere after that and then of lying in some quiet, dark place. He tried to move but felt that his body was bound. Turning his head with difficulty he saw a wall of green reeds topped with starlike brushes. Above him spread the translucent sky; from somewhere nearby, quite close to his ear, came the faint gurgle and splashing of water. It gradually dawned upon Pandion that he was lying, bound hand and foot, in a long, narrow boat. By raising his head he could see the bare legs of the men punting the boat along with long poles. They were well-built men with skin the colour of bronze and they were dressed in white loin-cloths.
“Who are you? Where are you taking me?” shouted Pandion, trying to catch a glimpse of the people standing in the stern of the boat.
One of them, a man with a clean-shaven face, bent over Pandion and said something in rapid tones. The strange language, with its melodious tongue clicks and strongly accented vowels, was quite incomprehensible. Pandion strained all his muscles in an effort to break his bonds, continually repeating the same questions. It gradually sank into the mind of the unfortunate captive that these people could not possibly understand him. Pandion managed to rock the boat but one of his escort immediately brought a bronze dagger close to his eyes. Disgusted with people, with himself and with the world at large, Pandion ceased his attempts at resistance and did not renew them again during his long journey through the labyrinth of swamp rushes. By the time the boat reached a stone wharf the sun had long passed the horizon and the moon hung high in the sky.
Here his legs were unbound and quickly and skilfully massaged to restore circulation. The soldiers lit two torches and made their way to a high rammed earth wall in which was a heavy, bronze-bound door.
After a lengthy altercation with the soldiers of the watch, Pandion’s escort handed a tiny scroll over to a sleepy-eyed, bearded man who had suddenly appeared, and received in return a piece of black leather.
The heavy door groaned on its hinges. Pandion’s hands were unbound and he was thrust into the prison. The warders, armed with spears and bows, pushed back a heavy wooden beam and Pandion found himself in a small square room packed with human bodies lying pell-mell on the floor. The people were breathing heavily and groaning in their unquiet sleep. Pandion, choking from the foul stench that seemed to ooze from the very walls, looked for an empty space on the floor and sat carefully down. He could not sleep; he pondered over the events of the last few — days and his heart grew heavy within him. The hours of his lonely, nocturnal meditation dragged slowly by.
Pandion thought of nothing but liberty although at the moment he could see no way of escape from bondage. He was far in the interior of an absolutely unknown country; alone, an unarmed captive, who knew nothing of the language of the hostile people that surrounded him, he could not undertake anything. He realized that they did not intend to kill him and resolved to wait. Later, when he knew something about the country… but what, then, awaited him in that “later”? As never before Pandion felt the urgent need of a companion who would help him overcome his terrible desolation. He pondered over the fact that there was no worse state for a man to be in — alone amongst strange and hostile people in an unknown and unknowable country, a slave, cut off from the whole world by virtue of his status. Loneliness would be much easier to bear if he were alone with nature — such solitude would strengthen rather than weaken his spirit.
Pandion bowed to his fate and fell into a strange lethargy. He awaited dawn and looked indifferently upon his companions in misfortune, captives from different Asian tribes unknown to him. They were better off than he was, they could talk to one another, they could share their grief, recall the past and discuss the future. The other prisoners cast equally curious glances on the silent Hellene.